Cyber sex is electrifying.
HMS Hope of the Dawn - Da Houg System - Taïrian Front
~~*~~
"Alright people, this is it."
For once, Masconi sounded as nervous as the rest of them felt. The fact that she'd be personally leading the assault probably had something to do with that. Not that the Hope would be much safer.
On the mission map there was a not particularly comforting picture of the Hope carrier group in sketchy blue outlines; advancing towards a colossal outline of the Dreadnaught and its still plentiful escorts.
Two Battlecruisers, several troop transports and an Amsus fleet carrier comprised the remainder of the Amsus assault force. On their own, they wouldn't have been a match for the imperial taskforce, with the titanic Amsus super weapon in their presence; the Imperials were woefully outgunned and outnumbered in terms of fighters. The 17 ships they lost on a botched attack on one of the cruisers had put them in an even worse position then they'd originally been in.
She bristled involuntarily at the thought and tried to push an unwelcome memory of her missing pilots' faces from her head.
They're gone, she whispered to herself, and you're probably going to join her before too long, so don't worry about it.
It was that, the realisation that death was just a fire fight away, that kept her together. If death was so far away, what was the point in spending what little time she had left mourning the loss of one who had been spared the hell the rest of us were going through as they waited for the metaphorical cry of 'charge' to be shouted.
Besides, she wanted a shot at that dreadnaught. No matter what happened, she wouldn't die without sending her ship's torpedo up its arse. She was sure that Salamander and certainly Adish felt the same way, and between them, they might just take it out.
Of course when this scenario played out in her head there was an overly convenient lack of flak fire and hostile fighters. In reality they'd probably be slaughtered before they got a good look at it.
"I want all F-175s and remaining EV-IIs to stick close to the Amsus launch bays, if you can fill it will enough fire, they might just stop any un-friendlies leaving the deck." Masconi cleared her throat, glancing at Captain Shale standing silently beside her. "All ships remember that the flak fire will be weakest at the bow of the ship, stay there if you can. F-150s will provide cover and take out a few turrets if at all possible. It will also be your job to try and cover the missiles as best as you can as they approach the target.
"This 'fire in the hole' idea only stands so long as the Roaches are still in there." Masconi continued, "If too many get out, abandon the plan and engage them."
"What about the rest of us sir?" Someone asked.
"I was getting to that Lieutenant." Masconi replied, "F-120s will be separated into three wings, these wings will engage either a cruiser or the enemy carrier. If they take that out its one less flight deck the cockroaches will be able to use against us."
She then began to read off names and her mind instantly returned to its wanderings.
She briefly regretted not finishing the goodbye letter to her family back on Tempus III. She'd tried for hours to come up with something suitably moving yet positive, and failed miserably. Everything she wrote sounded like an elaborate way of saying 'Sorry but I'm going to get shot to bits tomorrow. Goodbye.'
It seemed she couldn't keep her own resentment out of her letters.
She didn't resent her family, or Darien or the Empire or anything like that. The resentment stemmed from an average, healthy loathing for the universe. She'd carried it around with her since she'd first signed up. She often used to think that she should rightfully be spending her time in a largely unexciting job, getting drunk at every opportunity, wake up twice a week to find she'd slept naked in a tree and doing all other sorts of insane things befitting of a young woman. Basically she, and for that matter all of them should have been living and enjoying their lives, not fighting in a desperate war for the freedom of her species. As childish and insufferable as it sounded, it wasn't fair.
It was kind of strange in a way. She blamed fate for this, not the Amsus, even though it was them who'd started the whole thing.
"…Everyone clear?"
A round of 'yes sirs' from Adjudicator squadron was Masconi's reply.
"Alright, then listen up all of you." She cleared her throat again. "I know you're scared, we all are. Anyone who isn't is a fool. This won't be a repeat of what happened to the Quinson carrier group, because this time we know what we're doing. We will destroy this thing, and then we'll drive these farking maggot-ridden dung beetles from this system."
Nervous cheering, from all of them. She was trying to force conviction, optimism or anything that could be helpful into it, and she met with some success, but there was no quelling the fear, or the feeling that she was going to die. Those wouldn't go until she found herself out there, fighting for her life.
"The Empire needs a victory here people," Masconi continued, "We can't keep going the way they have been. If they take out this thing, there's no reason why other carriers can't do the same. The odds will be evened up, and their side will get a morale boost that is long overdue."
She was never normally that frank with them. The only explanation she could find for this change was desperation.
"I don't care how this looks to you. This is not impossible, and our chances of success are bigger then you probably believe. I don't want one man or woman here going into battle believing for one second that they're going to die. We're going to win this, just as we're going to win the war."
And there it was, a spectacular return to form. But in that moment she believed what she was saying. It was a strange feeling, as if all things rational had been stripped away and she could do, be or believe whatever the hell she wanted.
It didn't last.
After a few more seconds in which nervous murmurs, (although she could swear there was a general hint of reluctant optimism among them) filled the room.
"Alright then," Masconi said, "Squadrons dismissed, let's get suited up."
Getting out of the briefing room, with all four squadrons crowded into it was a long and awkward process, and things were little better in when they were getting suited up.
F-175 'Arkangel' - Da Houg System - Taïrian Front
THREE HOURS LATER
The hours passed slowly, everyone in the flight passing their time in the standard was. Saying goodbye to loved ones via voice messages, half-hearted conversations over the radio in which a crude victory celebration was planned, they all sang a truly horrible rendition of happy birthday to Captain Courtney Lamont's son at her request, and sent a recording of it to the Hope to be transferred at the next FTL mail drop. Standard stuff.
The dreadnought looked massive in the view screen before they were even close to firing range. Any moment Masconi expected to see a hailstorm of gunshots bearing down on them.
"Steady people," Masconi said coolly over the radio, "Wait for my signal."
With some effort, she tore her gaze away from the HUD and focused on her weapons display. She activated all her 55mm rail cannons and readied an Image recognition missile. Her RADAR didn't show any red contacts yet, but it was just a matter of time.
"Ripster." Masconi said over the radio unexpectedly, "Say something to them, see if you can't get under their skin a little."
"Um, ma'am I don't think…"
The young pilot's objections were trampled down by several more pilots, including Salamander encouraging her to think of something. She couldn't in good conscience refuse. Besides, it was an order, not a request.
It was about then that she made a solemn promise to herself never to say anything again to an Amsus over the radio if she survived this mission. This reputation was more trouble then it was worth sometimes. Everyone expects so much of a pilot like that.
In the end only one thing came to mind.
"Awake!" she screamed at the top of her lungs in her best elderly, female crone's voice, "Awake from ye trough of faeces you maggots. For the righteous fly swatter of glory has been brought out, and shall strike ye down where you sit. And your children shall suffer the pestilence of a cloud of Raid that shall wash over yer hive ships, gassing them into extinction, ye filthy carrion crawlers!"
She followed this up with some hysterical laughter, (not entirely forced), which sounded a lot like an ion cannon.
Masconi smiled in her helmet. The trick with Amsus was to say stuff that they won't understand and will waste time trying to figure out, --which happened more often then not if it was said with enough flare in the voice -- but at the same time, it was always best if a person could make sure that they knew they'd been insulted at the same time, but gibberish on its own could be enough
It seemed to work, no sooner were the words out then she, and presumably everyone else found a snarling human face on their com screen. She was young, her face twisted in rage. And Masconi guessed she was the C.O. of the Dreadnaught. For a while she thought it was Sephradon, as it turns out, she wasn't. After a token growl, she started to speak,
"Fools, can you not see what you face, is your kind so desperate that it wastes its ships and soldiers in pointless attacks on the vastly superior ships of the Heg…"
There was a moment of static and then Masconi's voice cut in.
"I think they've heard enough. All ships, break and attack, remember your objectives. For the Empire and humanity!"
She hit her afterburners and accelerated towards the Amsus dreadnought before her.
She didn't initially notice the return of the young woman's face on her comm. screen. She only knew what she said next because it was recorded in their black boxes.
"Very well, come forth and meet your death. Maybe some of you shall meet your end as warriors."
F-175 'Arkangel' - Da Houg System - Taïrian Front
FIVE MINUTES LATER
"Thizzle once wizzle a mizzle frizzle Lizzle."
Unfortunately the Predator in front of her wasn't paying much attention to the gibberish she was spouting. Taunts weren't really a wise course of action, but they made her feel better, helped her concentrate.
She was firing the 55mm rail cannon continually, the shots that landed preceded another four that didn't. She was wearing down his shields but not by much. She didn't want to launch a missile yet. She thought she could get away without for now. Save them for when she needed them.
What the hell are you talking about? She asked herself, I need one now!
She fired an Switchblade which tore through the Predator's damaged shields and caused it to veer off course slightly, thereby allowing the F-150 it was firing on to vanish from its sights.
Masconi's rear shields were taking hits, behind her it looked like three Predators had come to the aid of the lead Predator; someone was shooting at one of them, an EV-II she thought.
She pulled up hastily and had to quickly pull back down again to stop herself from smashing into an F-120. There were too many fighters out there.
She reduced her speed as much as she thought she could get away with and unloaded a new volley into a Predator that had crept into her sights as it tried, with limited success, to pick off a second F-120.
The streaks of light from her turrets sailed majestically through the distance and ripped a neat slice of the hull off of the dorsal side of the Predator. Her follow up volley obliterated him.
"Score one for the home team!" she said to one of the Predators that had reappeared behind her. He didn't reply.
Her rear turret was working all the while, firing shot after shot into the forward shields of her pursuers. She didn't have room to after burn, there didn't seem to be any way around this except through these Predators.
The 'fire in the hole' plan as Masconi had called it was abandoned as soon as they noticed the fifty odd fighters in their RADAR. They'd known they were coming. Maybe they had a stealth Raptor lurking near by; maybe they had a secret spy base in system, who knew. They'd only known about them thanks to a Scout corvette, the HMS Wanderer, which Captain Shale had requested from HQ after their tracking stations were destroyed. They were lucky that one had been so close; it was operating in the Gateway system before it got redirected to join them.
"Oh my God! They've…"
That was the fourth such epitaph she'd heard in the battle.
"They're launching bombers!" Shouted Captain Shale over the TAC-net. "All Ice Fox, who can do so, take them out."
She guessed that meant her.
The Predators were still trailing her, except that now there were three of them. God only knows where the forth one went.
With all the enemy ships flying around at one, it took her a while to find an Amsus Bomber, belovedly classified as a Wyvern. Once she did, she found the things were a fair distance from the Hope. Normally this would be a good thing; unfortunately in this case it meant they'd just have to stay out here longer, with all manner of unfriendly ships shooting them to hell. Also it meant they couldn't rely on friendly flak fire, at least not for a while.
She risked a short leap to 1000kps in a patch of space that seemed reasonably clear. She came to an abrupt stop when she noticed another F-175 coming straight at her.
Masconi swerved her fighter to the right; thankfully he swerved in the opposite direction. She sighed a heavy sigh of relief, reduced her speed and found her target again.
She didn't fire off a missile straight away, she wanted to get as close as she could without them seeing her.
There were four Wyvern in the wing ahead of her, and Masconi knew there were probably four or five more wings, at least, behind them. If not then there would be soon. The furthermost bomber on the right was taking fire from two F-150s, the two on the left were leaving mines in their wake, probably trying to discourage pursuers. Luckily for her, she was coming in from the side.
At 5000km, she sent two Switchblade missiles and a stream of gunfire into the exposed flank of the closest bomber. He made an effort to pull away, and might have done so if it wasn't for the two missiles which passed through the space where her targets shields had once been without obstruction and ripped the Amsus bomber apart.
No sooner had she targeted a second then she found one of the Predators behind her unloading shots into her rear shields once more.
She'd had enough of this.
She came to a complete stop and executed a 180 degree turn. F-175s were built for endurance, her port shields held up pretty well as she turned, her forward shields held long enough for her to take aim and fire.
The lead Predator pulled up after the first of her shots started ripping his shields away. She stayed with him; these bastards had been snapping at her heels for long enough, now it was her turn.
After about a minute of him skilfully evading her fire and her narrowly managing to stay with him, (this guy redefined the term 'slippery bastard'.) she noticed one of his wingmen reappearing behind her in the rear view display.
Masconi's rear turret sprung to life, but so far that hadn't proved to be a popular deterrent.
She released a decoy. Sometimes, and especially in situations such as these, the Preds would mistake them for mines and peel away.
It worked this time, but it wasn't long before he reappeared again, and she was still no closer to destroying his wing leader.
Like a giant claw, the bow of the Dreadnaught appeared in her HUD, the Predator seemed to be flying towards it, probably hoping to get her in range of one of its turrets.
She tried very hard to focus on her job, and a few hits to her rear shields helped her do just that.
Grasping the throttle in one hand, she came to a complete stop.
The second Predator sailed over her gracefully, and then turned 180 degrees the same way she had earlier. She thought he was going to fire the same way she had as well, instead, he began to accelerate towards her.
As her brain realised that he intended to ram her, she noticed her hand was absently working the missile controls, almost instinctively; she released one Switchblade and pulled up hard.
The Predator was in the earliest stages of becoming a fireball when it vanished from her screen. The flaming wreckage collided with her forward and ventral shields, reducing them both to single digit percentages.
There was no sign of the other one, or his other two wingmen for that matter.
It was about this point when Shale's voice appeared over the TAC-net. Masconi doubted it was going to be good news.
"Fox Leader this is Hope-Actual, the HMS Restitution has taken a torpedo hit and has taken critical damage," He said nervously, "She needs to fall back. We need every last one of those bombers gone; we cannot lose many more ships."
No sooner had he finished speaking than another voice took his place, it sounded familiar but she couldn't place it.
"My hull is…"
Her words degenerated to a scream as flames engulfed her. It took a long time for the TAC-net to cut out.
Masconi forced herself to turn her attention away from the dead pilot's last scream. If she didn't focus, she would be next.
Switching through more targets, she searched for more bombers. She had no idea how many there still were, but she assumed it would be a large number, between them, she couldn't imagine the Dreadnaught or the Battlecruisers had a shortage.
After a few moments of this, something appeared on her targeting display that didn't look like what she normally saw in its place. She had just enough time to read the word 'Scarab' above the image of a Predator before the two Predators that had been chasing her re-appeared behind her and fired.
They'd lost two men before they even got in line for a run at the carrier.
Pilot Officer Les 'Pewter' Morrison was taken out by one too many lucky hits from a Wyvern, and a Predator had taken out Flight Lieutenant Leonid 'Money' Banks in a mutually fatal collision.
There were supposed to be three additional F-175s providing the interceptors with cover, but with the amount of ships swarming around in the great dogfight, carrying out that task, presumably, was like trying to stop a snowball hitting an elderly person in the middle of a crowded street by chasing it with a paper bag.
Of course the sheer number of engagements and obstacles around the Ice Foxes also provided some much needed cover.
Masconi fired off a few shots at one of a wing of three passing Predators that were firing on two EV-IIs, the Pred's port side took a serious hit, but he managed to stay with his wingmen. She thought her rear turret fired a few shots at him, but once he was out of sight her attention hastily switched to the Carrier that was now appearing in front of her.
Most of it was hidden behind one of the claw like segments of the Dreadnaught's bow. She briefly felt yet another sense of sudden terror at the sheer size of the ship they were planning to destroy before her rear shields started taking hits.
"Taking evasive manoeuvres." she snapped to the remaining four ships in the wing she was leading. "All ships assume loose formation. Keep flying towards the carrier and launch your torpedoes, no matter what else happens." Masconi uttered after a few moments, the sound of her voice was bizarrely reassuring. Maybe it was because she'd been in command when they had to run from the dreadnought they were now trying to kill. Maybe her leading the wing back to safety caused some part of her head to be considered by the men around her as an asset to their continued survival. Maybe she just had a reassuring voice, it didn't really matter.
They were still a fair distance from the carrier, and getting within torpedo range required that they expose themselves to an unnerving percentage of the Dreadnaught's broadside.
At this thought, she remembered Puppy's scream as fire from the turrets they were now presenting themselves to reduced her F-175 to a cloud of debris in a matter of seconds.
They'd pay for that too. She told herself. In fact that the words 'They'd pay' were pretty much the only thing she'd thought since she received news about Zulu.
She'd lost people she'd known before. People she'd laughed with, flown with dozens of times before, gotten drunk with, and considered friends. But, callous though it sounded, she'd never lost anyone who she'd miss. Specifically people who she'd miss for more then two nights after they'd died and for a few minutes when their names slipped out in conversation. She'd never truly lost a friend before.
What she felt now, in retrospect, was almost a little frightening. She wasn't consumed with rage and a thirst for vengeance that drowned out everything else, although there was no denying it was there, hiding underneath everything else. She was still afraid of dying, and she still wanted to survive, but those were, well, she guessed the best way to describe the feelings was that they were secondary objectives. The only thing that mattered to her was taking out that carrier. The ship which, either through flak fire or one of its fighters had killed Zulu. She hadn't a clue which fighter had taken her out, if any, and she couldn't go searching for them, or hope to have much success engaging them, hence the target of her revenge had to be that carrier. If it went down, then she would be ok, and it would be ok if she died because she'd have completed her task.
Outside of the context of an obstacle, the Dreadnaught no longer mattered to her.
Masconi's orders had sent about half of the taskforces F-120s to and damage the Dreadnaught's launch deck. The hope was to punch enough craters in it to render it unusable. Judging by the swarms of fighters exiting the enemy flight deck, they weren't meeting with much success.
Whatever was shooting at her rear shields abruptly stopped. She never saw what it was, but if she had to guess, based on the rate her shields were fading. It was a Predator. It might have been a laser turret for all she knew, but whatever it was had stopped firing.
No sooner had she noticed this then she found herself pulling upwards to avoid an F-150. When she pulled back down to line herself up with the carrier, she found a stream of gunfire, this time from a Wyvern coming at her.
Whereas a brief surge of fear would have preceded her hand moving to the missile controls, this time it was a surge of anger that caused her to send two friend or foe missiles down the Amsus's throat. She didn't care that this was an enemy looking to kill her; all she saw was something in the way.
The Wyvern's forward shields collapsed with the missile hits. Almost as if on cue, the green crosshair signalling her passing into firing range appeared on the HUD. As she fired she felt some of her control go with the 55mm rail cannon blasts. The gunshots brought her rage to the surface, she almost started screaming as she fired; and she kept firing even after her ship passed through the exploding cloud of debris that had once been an Amsus bomber.
To her surprise, it seemed that one of her wingmen had witnessed this.
"Stay calm Angelina. Focus on your objective, don't lose your head."
In spite of everything, she actually managed to feel a twinge of embarrassment. She rebuked herself for it and searched for more Wyverns, but it looked like they'd all flown passed the Ice Foxes. No doubt they were heading for the Hope, or one of her escorts.
She couldn't see the Hope in her rear view display; they must have still been a long way from their target.
She almost started giggling. The thought of that massive monstrosity as a target had assumed a whole new level of absurdity now that they were here trying to destroy it.
Don't lose your head her Wingman's voice repeated in her head.
We have a job to do.
They'll pay.
They'll…
The Ice Foxes were approaching the edge of the main battle, ships started to vanish behind them and dogfights were becoming more sporadic. Masconi noticed two F-175s ripping apart a Raptor not far from them, it vanished from sight before they destroyed it, but it was a nice thing to see.
"Incoming flak fire at Seven O'clock." Masconi snapped. She began dodging shots probably before the Amsus had noticed her. She didn't want to make this easy for them.
At least one pilot didn't have this foresight. Pilot Officer Brenda Garcia. Her voice soon appeared on the TAC-link once the flak fire started coming at them.
"I'm hit. I've lost flight control, she can't keep her stea…"
"Pilot, eject!" Masconi shouted.
She did eject, and she got clear of her fighter before it exploded. Then, some time later, some farking Amsus gunner decided to use her for target practice. There was nothing left of her.
And then there were three Foxes loose in the henhouse.
The Amsus Carrier was in plain sight now. But it was still a long way out. Flak fire from the Dreadnaught seemed to increase with each passing second. A string of four red dots also told Masconi of a new wing of fighters that had launched from the carrier and now stood between us and them.
She didn't notice the contact behind us until it was too late.
Up until now, Flight Lieutenant Kate Wang had been faring better then Masconi and her wingman Firefly, at least that's what she'd assumed. From what she'd seen in the fleeting instants when she appeared in her VDU, she'd had far better luck dodging the flak fire then they had, and she always seemed to manage to keep in line with the carrier. Perhaps it was her single minded focus on it which doomed her.
As her ship passed into her field of vision, Masconi saw gun shots boring into her rear shields, a lot of them. These weren't from the dreadnought.
She banked left in an attempt to assist but it was too late. Two missiles sailed into the F-175 from behind and the ship went up in an instant.
They were dropping like flies.
Now the fear was beginning to show itself.
Don't lose your head.
Masconi tried desperately to focus on her duties and not give way to rage or panic. She switched her targeting display to the new attacker, and bit back a scream.
The word 'Scarab' hung above the image of a Predator. She'd heard about him, an Amsus ace as arrogant as he was dangerous, countless Terran kills to his name, and Firefly now appearing in his firing line. And his Predator appeared in Masconi's.
With barely a rushed glance at the display, she fired another switchblade missile at the Predator, and then pulled right to try and steer clear of the flak fire that was still coming at them from all sides.
Scarab ignored the missile. It impacted on his shields causing such insignificant damage it was barely worth mentioning.
So she fired five.
He took more notice of these, he pulled up, and then to the right, it was hard to keep him in her sights.
Two missiles impacted, the others impacted on each other. After a moment his voice appeared on her TAC-link. It was hard not to let her intimidation show.
"Just like the others." He chortled disinterestedly, "Every one of you pathetic humans that has challenged me I have sent screaming into the void. You shall be no different."
Unlike Amsus troopers the pilot's were more mature, it gave them better skills in the cockpit but gave them a fatal flaw, ego.
Part of her wanted to respond, wanted to tell him where to shove it. But she couldn't. Her mind had turned to stone. All she could do was try not to get hit.
His rear turret was firing at her; it wasn't the usual auto-cannon turret either. She was having a hard time avoiding the shots from it, plasma fire… or… zero-point energy… she couldn't tell exactly, things were moving too fast.
When she heard Shale's voice over TAC-net, it took her a while to realise who he was. She remembered feeling relieved; at least the Hope was still there.
"The Restitution has taken another torpedo hit," He said, his voice betraying his anger, "She can't take much more of this. We need every last one of those bombers gone; or we will loose her all together."
There was nothing she could do to help.
Scarab had afterburned away from her, from what she could make out, he looked like he was turning round, and he was preparing himself for a run at her. The distant sunlight of Da Houg's star glittered off of the faint gold tinge of the Amsus Ace's wings, the blood red marks painted there, counting the number of kills, numbering over a hundred.
The distance between their ships began to close suddenly. It was closing at a rate which seemed unnatural. She resisted the temptation to get out of his way. She'd have better luck playing chicken with him. She'd get some shots into him, and he didn't seem like the type to sacrifice himself through a collision.
Firefly got there before her though.
Streams of gunfire from his F-175, along with a missile slammed into the Predator's ventral shields. Scarab pulled up and moved himself out of Firefly's firing range.
"I'll keep him busy." He said, his voice betraying his intimidation. She couldn't blame him for it, "You get to that carrier, destroy it at all costs."
"Right," she replied, her vice sounding hollow in her ears, "Good luck."
"To you as well."
She swung her fighter back around to face the carrier and narrowly avoided colliding with the lead ship of a second wing of bombers. This was the wing launched from the carrier. She thought they'd been sent to deal with the Foxes, but they ignored her, save for a few failed shots from the rear turrets. They were going after the cap ships.
The carrier was almost in torpedo range. Moments after she hit her afterburners, the flak fire from the Dreadnaught abruptly died out.
Did they get it?
No, she'd just moved out of their firing range. Still, this made her life easier.
The pre-lock chime began to sound, and she soon found herself having to dodge a second load of flak fire from the Amsus Carrier. Dodging that lot was harder considering she had to keep the ship in sight to maintain the lock.
"Arkangel," Firefly's transmission was garbled, his ship had taken damage. "I can't…" The next part was static; she could only make out a handful of words, "He'll be coming after… soon… Make sure you get…"
Then the transmission cut out.
In her rear view display, she noticed the briefest hint of an explosion.
"Now Highlady, your comrades are gone, you are to die alone by my hand."
Maybe, she thought, but first things first.
The lock chime sounded, and she fired her two Reefer anti-capital ship missiles.
She swerved away, hoping to get the flak fire to concentrate on her instead of the warheads. She swung her ship back around so that she was facing Scarab. She was almost certain at this point that she was going to die, but she still had something to do.
Despite all her expectations, the torpedoes reached their target. A huge explosion punched vast chunks of the hull out into space. It was a beautiful sight.
Come on, you've almost got it.
She swung her ship back around, she didn't care about Scarab anymore. Maybe if she took the carrier out, his C.O. would be suitably convinced that he'd failed to defend it and would order him to commit suicide or something.
She doubted it; still, she felt entitled to dream.
The pre-lock chime sounded again. As did her lock light. She jettisoned decoys but made no attempt to evade the missile, this was too important. She was too close.
She honestly didn't know whether it hit or not. She was too preoccupied with the gunfire ripping her rear shields away.
Once they'd gone down, her armour vanished, she tried to pull away but her engines were the next to go. She was dead in the water.
She guessed that would have to do.